


Hockey + Ginger = Love?

by noseriouslythisis



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016-2017 NHL Season, Fluff, M/M, Stickhandling 101
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10998894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseriouslythisis/pseuds/noseriouslythisis
Summary: When Freddie signed with Toronto, he expected to miss the sun. He didn't expect Brownie.





	1. So Here It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Here follows a Ginger Situation origin story. Many thanks to my lovely beta R F1DEL1US as usual, and also the leafs gc who fuelled my goalie love and showed me the wonders of those two lovelies together.  
> Have fun, it's gonna be a long one.

 

Freddie sighed, looking at his phone that had been going off non stop for the last little while. Contract negotiations were hard. Finally, finally, they had come to an agreement, though not with the Ducks. He looked around, resigned, at his half packed up apartment. It was for the best, and he was excited to play in Toronto, was going to reach out to some of his new teammates soon (in fact, a few of them had already messaged him, stating they were glad to have him) but there were things he was going to miss. His apartment, his teammates, the proximity to the beach, the  _ sun _ . He was used to the kind of weather he was going to experience in Toronto, it was not dissimilar to the weather of his home town, but Cali… he had always enjoyed soaking in the warmth, the rays of sunshine, going to the beach early in the morning for jogs and quick dips into the ocean. He was going to store all those sensations in his heart, keep them close, and visit whenever possible. He still had the standing offer of using Jakob’s beach house upstate, so there was that.

The few of his teammates who stuck around town were going to help him pack up all his shit, and then he’d be on a flight to Toronto, to sign his shiny new five year contract, to find a place, and somewhere in between there he was going to visit his family. And then, there were the Olympic qualifying games, and the world cup and… This summer was busy. Very busy. And he would have to have his car shipped over. And probably need new tires. He smiled a bit. The one thing he did miss in Anaheim was rain, petrichor smell, the sound of raindrops on his windows.

The next few weeks were a blur. He was barely in Toronto before he flew out again, and then there was training and games and…suddenly, there was nothing. He got  _ hurt _ , and with that, all hopes of the Olympics flew out of the window. Maybe, maybe he would get another chance but, who knew what kind of Danish goalie wunderkind would emerge by then. He’d be old then.

It did mean he had more time to explore Toronto though. He went to rehab, he trained, he wandered through the city, he got used to his new apartment. It was nice, not too far from the arena, with a great view and hardwood floors, high ceilings, a kitchen that was just big enough to be comfortable and small enough to be cozy.  _ Hygge  _ was still something he held onto, that sensation of being cozy with your friends (and drunk. He had left that behind after he had calmed down, now more interested in coffee and the occasional craft beer, and it was good).

And once he was comfortable, he let his new teammates know he was in town. He had gotten their numbers, of the Leafs and the Marlies both, not all, but a lot. There was a group chat, too, which immediately erupted in recommendations for basically  _ everything _ in Toronto. Where to find the best farmer’s market, the best clubs, the best shops… Some were less than helpful, but it did make him feel welcomed. He did find his own things though, through google and his wanderings, a small coffee shop hidden in a corner that roasted their own beans, a nice track outside the city to just  _ drive _ , but he knew this was just the beginning. He had time.

A few of them would come together to watch the world cup, at least those who were not participating, as a sort of bonding exercise before training camp, and to scope out the new kid on the block. Before that, though, he met a few of the Toronto natives, who were in the city before most of the others. Well. He saw some of them around the training facility. One day, not too long after his injury, about two weeks before the prelims, and on one of his first days in the city, he was on his way out after having been examined and prodded and given a massage that left him both a little hazy from the strain and also feeling oddly light, he ran into someone in the doorway. Blindly, he reached out to keep whoever it was from falling over. His hands found a slim waist and a strong forearm, feeling both powerful and fragile in his large palms. Stabilised, he looked up…and felt his breath catch. He was  _ beautiful _ . And also his new teammate. 

He stepped back, letting go, but they still remained close. The mumbled apologies had stopped, and now there was a hand held out to him. “Hi” Connor said. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Welcome to Toronto, man!” Feeling a little wrong footed, Freddie clapped Connors hand in his. “Uh, hi! Thanks, Connor.”  _ Smooth, Freddie. _ That got him a delighted smile. “You remember me? That was a nice goal, eh?” Oh, he was feisty. “It was.”, He agreed. He could feel the smirk tugging on his lips. “I’m not gonna let you score on me in practice though” When Connor laughed, his eyes seemed to sparkle. Everything about him was bright. “Didn’t think so, Andersen” Freddie furrowed his brow. That…didn’t sound right. “Freddie. You can call me Freddie.” The laughter subsided into a small, pleased smile. “Alright, Freddie. You can call me Brownie.” They were caught in their bubble for a bit, and Freddie wanted it to never end. It did, though. It had to. In the background, there was a sudden, loud, noise, like a door slamming shut. They both startled a bit, and Connor looked up at him, still bright, but quieter now. “Hey. I gotta go, I have an appointment with the trainers but…I’m from around here, you know. I could show you around a bit, if you want. Get some coffee.” Freddie nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. Same time, same place tomorrow?” And Connor smiled, he agreed, he said his goodbyes, and then he was gone, and Freddie was left alone, still reeling from the encounter.

In his car, Freddie leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. This was…complicated. The interaction had been easy, almost too easy. He was usually quiet, unless he was soaked in sunlight. It was easier to be open then. The thing was, even though nothing really happened, there had been a flirtatious vibe to their interaction. He couldn’t put his finger on how exactly, but he felt it nonetheless. He was a goalie, it was his job to notice things. He didn’t imagine the lingering up and down looks he had received, the tilt of Connor’s… Brownie’s head. Being with a teammate could be a bad idea. He didn’t know yet what the locker room was like. Sure, there were always whispers, and he had never heard of anything bad in Toronto. It had been part of his decision to sign with the team. He sighed. There was no point in idle speculation. He didn’t know if Brownie was actually interested, flirtation aside. He knew hockey boys; even the straight ones, especially those that came up through juniors, often had no concept of boundaries and personal space. And he would have to figure out how the room felt. And then, maybe… Until then, he had to figure out what to do until tomorrow. Anything that didn’t involve overthinking it and spending too much time remembering the warm laugh he had been witness to. He turned the key in the ignition, and drove home.


	2. The Benefits of Dancing are as Follows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It continues, and Freddie totally doesn't lose his chill. Not at all.  
> Also, R, wonderful beta and friend that she is, made a beautiful mood board inspired by our early conversations about this story. Check it out [here](http://theseleafsarealright.tumblr.com/post/161096162166/for-noseriouslythisiss-fic-hockey-ginger)  
> Parts of this may or may not be my new lock screen.

Brownie was already waiting when Freddie stepped out of the trainers’ room. He looked good. The black skinny jeans clung to his legs, and the light blue jumper under his coat looked soft. His smile was prettier. Freddie resigned himself to what he had already suspected: He was screwed.

He got another handshake in greeting, lingering just a tic too long, and was then led out of the building into the streets of Toronto. Together, they walked a bit, Brownie giving him commentary on the buildings and shops they passed, looking pleased to show off his city. Eventually, he was led into a small, cozy café that doubled as a book shop. They found a corner with a plush sofa and small table, and Brownie disappeared for a bit to get their drinks. It was quiet, and private, with soft music playing in the background, and Freddie felt comfortable. Toronto was a big, loud city, with a big, loud fan base, but this almost felt like a small world in itself. 

When Brownie returned, he handed Freddie his Cappuccino ( _ Boring, _ he declared, but Freddie liked it as a baseline to test new shops.) and settled next to him with his hot chocolate. “Don’t like Coffee?” Freddie asked. Connor shrugged. “I do, but it’s mostly just fuel. Haven’t found any that is really good yet, so I usually don’t bother. I just drink some filter coffee at the rink usually.” Freddie stared. Then, very deliberately, said: “I will fix that.” He got a soft smile in return. “You do that, goalie man.”

That afternoon, they talked about all kinds of things. Music (they both liked Drake, but their opinions varied on European dance music), hockey, how they both wanted a dog, the beach, and books. And so much more. It was comfortable in a way Freddie usually only felt with close friends. And they were getting there, he knew. There was a sort of mutual understanding between them, and over the course of the next two weeks they met up almost every day, sometimes going back to the shop, sometimes going for breakfast before Freddie had to go to physical therapy. Slowly, more and more of their teammates trickled back into town, and Freddie was relieved to note he got on well with all of them.

Then, of course, the World Cup started. In lieu of his original plan (participating) Freddie and some of the other Leafs went to watch the games from the press box. They all had different loyalties, of course, but they all cheered when Auston scored his first goal. Training camp coincided with the later rounds of course, and there was barely any time to be alone with Connor. Freddie hadn’t realised it, but they had spent so much time together these last two weeks that it felt like they had known each other for much longer. They did text, though, and Freddie mourned his lack of time that meant he couldn’t start his mission to find Brownie’s perfect coffee just yet. He could, however, start refining his palette. 

 

When Freddie turned up with a travel mug of simple black coffee with a splash of almond milk (and oh, how he missed the fresh coconut milk he could get in Anaheim. He really needed to stock up on coffee paraphernalia. He just…hadn’t needed to, what with meeting Brownie every day) on the second day of training camp, Brownie eyed him, considering, and sidled up to him. “Can I try?” 

Freddie nodded, and then was abruptly glad that barely anyone was around yet to see him blush. Because Brownie curled his hand around his wrist, looked up at him, and took the mug, still holding on, before taking a sip. “Hm.” He said. “It’s bitter.” Well, yes. “It’s supposed to be. It’s for waking me up.” Brownie considered this, and nodded. “Alright. Just FYI, though, for your quest or whatever, I prefer it a little sweeter.” This last bit was delivered with a small smirk, a wink, and then he returned the mug, let go of Freddie’s wrist, and dashed off. Freddie stared after him helplessly. He intended to woo Connor, absolutely, but he would have to regain a semblance of chill first. He resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall and headed for the locker room.

The day after training camp, before they all knew who would stay up, they went out to party. In a low key way, but still. About half the team went to a club that was private enough to not be bothered and quiet enough to give the illusion of conversation being possible. Freddie warily eyed the tray of brightly coloured shots on their table and stuck to his beer, a smooth dark stout. Brownie had settled next to him in the booth, with James on his other side, and leaned into him slightly. Freddie knew he was worried about staying up. It was more likely than not, practically guaranteed, and yet. 

Together, they watched their teammates trickle out, one by one, to dance, and eventually Brownie made to move as well. Before he stood up, though, he threw Freddie’s stout a considering look. “May I?” This was going to become a habit, Freddie could tell, and it was going to ruin him. He nodded, watched as Brownie took a swig, considering the taste, and was irrationally pleased about the satisfied expression on Brownie’s face. “Fits you.” Brownie said. “Very smooth.” And then he set the bottle down and went over to the dance floor. Freddie tried, and failed, not to stare after him. 

Next to him, James gave a considering hum. He turned to him, sharply. “What?” The smile he received was gentle. “It’s alright, you know. You fit together well.” Freddie thought about playing dumb, but ultimately disregarded it. “You don’t think it could cause problems in the room?” James shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. But, everyone’s cool, and if they’re not, you come to me. Between you being you and those idiots out there being oblivious on a good day, I doubt many of them would even notice, in case you’re worried.” Freddie considered this, and nodded. He really had to talk to Brownie, see if he had a chance. “Thanks”, he said. James laughed. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s just as taken with you as you seem to be with him.” This, Freddie didn’t reply to. He just smiled, and took another sip, and watched Brownie dance.


	3. Of Beans and Carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Have some smitten goalie and some wooing.   
> Reader, he kissed him.

He was  _ intoxicating. _ Over the next few weeks, through preseason, they went out dancing a few times to let off steam and get to know each other. Between these outings and Freddie and Brownie still meeting up in their coffee shop on off days, Freddie found it harder and harder to avert his gaze whenever he saw Connor. Even though they were closer than ever, still on that precipice between flirting and intent, he still hadn’t made a decisive move. He was more and more certain Connor wanted him to though.

This was cemented on his birthday (a 3:2 OT win over Montreal at home). He hadn’t told anyone about this beforehand, but he did get some well wishes when he arrived for morning skate. They all checked out the stats of new teammates, of course they knew. Even Babs incorporated it into his morning speech, as he was wont to do. Surrounded by mostly rookies, Freddie felt old for a bit until he was distracted by Brownie. He was looking at him, eyebrows raised and grinning. 

Freddie guessed it had something to do with the card he had found in his locker before getting dressed. He grinned back, pulled out the envelope, and removed the card to study it. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud at what he saw. Glued to the card (nice card stock, Leafs blue) was a picture of Brownie scoring his first NHL goal. Below, it said: “Congrats on being a year closer to thirty! To a new era, xx Connor Brown, teammate extraordinaire.” It also included a crude drawing of a cartoon duck wearing a goalie mask, wrapped in a blue flag with a maple leaf on it which appeared to be growing out of its wings. 

Freddie’s laugh drew much attention in the room. Still getting used to his new team and reserved in nature, they had barely seen his smiles, and this was the first time they heard him laugh, sharing his perpetual amusement with them. The chirps and speculation on what had caused it immediately followed. Freddie, though, just waved the envelope (Covered in blue glitter, with  _ Freddie _ written on it in a barely legible, elaborate scrawl) and carefully tucked it into his bag. 

Traces of the glitter clung to his fingertips for the rest of the day, matching the smudges on Brownie’s sleeves, and later the back of his shirt when Freddie hugged him in thanks. Brownie looked at him smugly when he drew back, obviously pleased with the reaction he had gotten. “Just you wait,” he said. “We’re gonna get you a win tonight.” And they did. 

This, in addition to their almost daily meet-ups, emboldened Freddie.

 

And so, on the morning of their first proper home game, at morning skate there was a steaming mug of coffee in Brownie’s stall. It was white, simple looking paper, but when Connor picked it up he could see flowers drawn on the side of the sleeve. They were small, delicate even. Below, the botanical names were written in careful, looping script: _Dianthus caryophyllus, Iris Scorpiris, Hyacinthus Orientalis._  

Freddie tried very hard not to stare too obviously while watching Brownie for his reaction. Still in his coat and toque, he picked up the mug, an almost wondering expression on his face. Then, he lifted it up, wrapping both hands around it for warmth, and took a sip. He looked pleasantly surprised. Curiously, he took another sip. It was smooth, and hot, and had hints of chocolate and cinnamon.

Then, he examined the sleeve closer, very carefully pulling it off the mug so as not to accidentally ruin it with spillage. With that same care, he slipped the sleeve into his coat pocket, and took another sip. They were still among the first in the room, and so there was barely anyone to notice the way Freddie blushed under Brownies gaze when he looked up. (The only one who would have noticed was James, anyways, and he had disappeared…somewhere)  Brownie was smiling, a delighted little thing, and he nodded his head to the door leading into the equipment room. 

Cautiously, Freddie stood up to follow, almost walking into a wall when Brownie took hold of his sleeve to lead him into the room. Once inside, alone as they were, the smile cranked up a few settings, and Freddie could feel himself mirroring it. Trying to keep up at least the illusion of composure, he raised an eyebrow. “So, how is the actual coffee?” 

Connor looked amused. “Good. You know, still room for improvement, but not bad at all.”  _ That little shit. _ Slightly sobering, Connor asked, quietly: “Those flowers. What do they mean?” Freddie swallowed, looking away. No backing out now. He turned back, looking down into Brownies eyes (well, down. Brownie was taller than most, it just happened to be that Freddie was even taller). “They mean  _ You are lovely. _ They mean  _ New Beginnings.  _ And they mean  _ I wish to court you.”  _

The look he got for his confession was one of pure adoration. Brownie reached up, tracing his jaw before settling on his neck, pulling him down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Quietly, he said “This means, I accept.” Helplessly, Freddie shuddered. He was not used to being treated so softly. His size meant that most expected him to take charge, and he liked that, he did, but to be treated like he was precious… He turned his head, giving Brownie a kiss to the forehead. “Thank you.” He murmured. 

Then, he rested his face in Connor’s neck, breathing him in, embracing him in his long, long arms, pulling him close. They stayed like that, Connor playing with the hair on the nape on his neck, for a few minutes before they disentangled. There was practice to be had. Before they headed back to the locker room though, Freddie caught Connor’s hand. “Hey. I…I’m serious about this, if you are alright with that. I’d like to take it slow. Properly woo you. Build this on a strong foundation.” Connor laughed, warm and reassuring. “What, you expecting me to say no to that? Freddie, I like you. A lot. I’m not planning on letting you go. I’m all in, okay? All in.” 

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, in victorian flower language, hyacinth also stands for sports.   
> Here a small legend of the mentioned flowers, in order:  
> Dianthus caryophyllus: Carnation, fascination and love  
> Iris Scorpiris: Iris, warmth of affection  
> Hyacinthus Orientalis: Hyacinth, loveliness


	4. Back to the 80s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four! In case you haven't seen the Vancouver game on November 5, here are some [highlights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeghuvXb-0Q) Basically, it was very fighty and nicely showed what hockey was like about 30 years ago. It was great.   
> So, here follows Vancouver and some dinner.

Over the next weeks they were consumed with games. One of them was their first meeting against Vancouver.  It was  _ wild _ . They won, but this was almost an afterthought. It felt like half the team (on both sides) was ejected, and with so many fights and even multiple line brawls happening it was like a game from a time where most of them hadn’t even been born yet. 

Babs was not pleased, of course, but he let them have the night to calm down before he would inevitably chew them out at practice the next day. Most of them giggled their way through showering and changing, and when they were mostly ready to head out, Brownie wandered over to Freddie’s stall where he had been waiting for the rest of them, having gotten a head start.

“Feisty,” Brownie said. “This is gonna fuck up your stats and remind everyone of the time you were an angry baby goalie without the deceiving calming charm you have now.” Freddie grinned. “Deceiving, huh? I barely did anything. The misconduct was for leaving my crease, you know that.” The face Brownie made showed very clearly his thoughts, the realisation of the prime innuendo chance he had been handed, and the choice to leave it be until he could actually do something about it.  So, he just winked, murmuring “The crease, eh?” and tracing his fingers over Freddie’s shoulders. That night, Brownie was dropped off at home late, them having gotten a little carried away making out in a quiet corner of the arena, long after everyone had gone home.

 

They still met up on their off days, and on game days there would be a cup of coffee with a flower drawn on the sleeve in Brownie’s stall without fail. Sometimes, if Freddie thought he could use a pick me up, a small pastry was included. A cookie, a slice of banana bread or even a muffin (all healthy versions, of course). The boys picked up on it, though it took them a little while, mostly because Freddie and Brownie were among the first to arrive. 

One day near the end of November, while Willy was still pining for his (probably) boyfriend to come back up, and a good two months since the whole courting thing had started, Naz was the first to ask about it. Brownie just shrugged, smiled, and headed to the showers. After that, a few of them started paying a little more attention, but it took a while for anything concrete to come up. In the meantime, Freddie and Brownie had taken to meeting at each other’s places (mostly Freddie’s) to cook dinner together on non-game days and watch movies, usually ended by cuddling and eventual making out. 

When they went to Brownie’s place, it was a little different. Freddie was far from the only Leaf to stop by the Brown family home, but he was among the more frequent visitors. Not too long before Christmas he was over for dinner, which revolved mostly around the traditional outdoor game, affectionately called the  _ Beauty Bowl _ (Brownie was disappointed he couldn’t go because of the games. “I would have drafted you!” he declared at the dinner table. “With you, we would have won for sure! You’ll have to come for shinny at some point, we’ll destroy them, just you wait.”). 

As always, Brownie’s family seemed delighted about Freddie’s presence, questioning him about Denmark and being a goalie and even coaxed some stories about Brownie in the show out of him in exchange for childhood tales. After dinner, he offered to help do the dishes and found himself (gently) cornered by Mrs. Brown while he was elbow deep in suds, Connor preoccupied elsewhere. “So, Freddie.” Mrs Brown started. “What are your intentions towards my son?” Freddie stilled. He knew Brownie was out to his family, that it was not a big deal. They had planned to tell them soon, hadn’t really hidden their relationship, but they were still being careful. As teammates, they couldn’t afford not to be. 

Carefully he answered: “Your son is the brightest person I’ve ever met. He brings out the best in me, and I hope I will not have to find out what I would do without him.” Mrs. Brown nodded. “I see the way you look at him, and the other way round, too. I know him. He adores you, and I think you adore him right back.” Freddie smiled. “I do. He’s…I fell for him the second I met him.” Mrs. Brown seemed satisfied with that. Her face, friendly looking to begin with, softened further a second before…Brownie was there. He was there, wrapping his arms around Freddie from behind, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Right back at you, goalie man.”

When Freddie turned around Mrs. Brown had vanished. He set his hands on Brownie’s hips, heedless of the soapy water still dripping from his arms, and kissed him.

After that, things felt more settled than before. Sure, they had been close, committed, serious before. But now, the intensity had been turned up. Before games, they took their naps together, mostly in Freddie’s apartment but sometimes in Brownie’s room as well, driving in together with Brownie swooning over his car almost every time. Once the weather improved, he would have to take him on a really nice track.

The tradition carried over on road trips as well, leading to more speculation as to what, exactly, Brownie got up to when he was not to be found. No one ever suspected Freddie. Unobservant, the lot of them. They would make terrible goalies.

 

Three days before Christmas Eve, Freddie posted his first shutout as a Leaf in a triumphant 6:0 win over the Avalanche. As soon as the whistle blew, he was mobbed, his team piling onto him in jubilant celebration. Their goalie, actual backbone of their efforts both on the ice and off, once again proving his worth. Never had Brownie wanted to kiss him on ice as keenly as he did then. He settled for a hug, screaming into his ear, feeling himself be lifted a little bit. 

They couldn’t party too much with a game the very next day, but on the plane they boarded once they had cleared out of the locker room, the team was in an excellent mood, praising Freddie and the goal scorers (and actually everyone else too) and butchering the Danish anthem. Brownie, in turn, had abandoned his usual seat and claimed the one next to Freddie, happy as a clam under his arm and chirping him about  his form on some saves and complimenting the glove saves he had a weakness for. 

That night he (innocently) crashed in Freddie’s single hotel room and never really left, for the Christmas road trip and the rest of the season.  Auston, incorrigible roommate that he was, made jokes about Brownie disappearing to hook up, though they died down when Brownie very pointedly reminded him of the early days in the season. 

 

And then, in a good substitute for their own little outdoor game (“It’s not little! Why did I say I would draft you? No appreciation.”), the Centennial Classic arrived. 


	5. 100 Years of Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Centennial Classic! That was a fun one. Very typical Leafs performance ft. a happy ending.   
> The same could be said of this chapter :)   
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta R, as always. (She's preparing for a big test, poor thing. I'd send her her very own Freddie to cuddle, if I could. Alas, this might help a bit too)  
> Enjoy the fluff, January was a good time in Leafs land. Mostly.

This, Brownie thought, this was an acceptable tradeoff for missing the Beauty Bowl. They had met legends, had seen them be honoured, had seen them play. And now they would celebrate this league’s 100th anniversary. It was  _ electrifying. _ He looked over at Freddie and felt his breath catch. He had pulled his goalie toque on over his hair, mask sitting beside him. He looked focused, as he always did before a game, and happy. This was an incredible event, and they were going to defeat Detroit and play their hearts out. 

Then, Freddie looked up, a small grin forming on his face. He had a stick of eye black in his hands and motioned Brownie over. The cameras had left the room,  setting up to film their walk out onto the ice, and Brownie padded over, skirting the logo and coming to a stand in front of his boyfriend.  _ Boyfriend. _ It did not seem a word sufficient to describe their relationship. Oh how he adored him. He reached out, and lifted the toque onto his own head, ruffling Freddie’s hair in the process. It still looked perfect, of course it did. Freddie raised his hands, setting one lightly on Brownie’s hip and used it to reel him in closer until he was standing between his pads. 

The room was mostly busy getting dressed and paid them no notice. Carefully, Freddie lifted his other hand and painted Brownie’s cheekbones black, one stripe, then another. Then, he handed the stick over to Connor, tracing his fingertips over his wrist. Brownie knew he was blushing, an action he was not prone to doing, yet that singular focus trained solely on him brought it out. Not that he cared much. 

Freddie was always so careful with him, treating him like something precious. The other day they’d skyped Freddie’s family together (they had apparently heard all about him, especially Freddie’s sister) and he had gotten an invitation to visit Denmark in the summer. He was aware that many people would consider this too fast, even though months had gone by, spent mostly at each other’s side, going to war together. But...from the first day, Brownie knew this was going to be special. They had taken each step slowly, deliberately, growing so close and safe together. This was right, he knew it was. He was not nervous. How could he be? He was so sure. 

And he gripped the eye black, setting his other hand on Freddie’s cheek, painting his face while Freddie whispered to him in Danish; a poem Brownie had heard many times now. He had not yet been given a full translation (though he was learning, a bit. Freddie would find out soon enough) but it was not necessary. He knew it spoke of love, of summer and devotion, faith and clarity and sun, the lilting rhymes so familiar by now. 

Freddie had told him it was a poem he knew from childhood. An anchor of sorts, one he spoke when he was homesick, when he wanted to think of good things, of what he loved. He took it as the declaration it was, letting Freddie finish his verse, and bent down to lightly kiss his forehead, feeling the hands on his hips tighten minutely. He sighed. “We’re gonna go have some hot chocolate with my family later, don’t forget.” As if Freddie ever could. Some of their teammates would join them perhaps, but that was okay. They’d have time to themselves later. 

And then, they stood up and got in a line, piling out the door in orderly fashion, and played. 

 

Playing an actual NHL game outside was awesome. The wind in your face, the unique way the ice felt...Freddie loved it. It did mean being half frozen at the end of it though, ruddy cheeks, chapped lips and slow fingers. You’d think they’d be used to it by now, but the arenas are heated, and full of people. Still, at the end of their OT win (thanks Auston), they piled into the locker room as quick as possible, shedding layers as they went. 

Once they had showered, changed, and tried to tame their hair somewhat (this was where toques came in handy), about half the team dispersed with their families. Freddie, Brownie, Auston, Mitch, Willy, Mo and Gards all congregated around Brownie’s family, talking and laughing and drinking the promised hot chocolate they had brought, with marshmallows and other... accoutrements as desired, until Freddie and Brownie were the only ones left. 

They went back with Brownie’s family for a hearty dinner with stew and freshly baked sourdough bread. Most of this time Freddie and Brownie spent tucked into each other, almost always touching, and it was...nice. They could just  _ be. _ In the evening, they bid their goodbyes, with plans to spend the night and the morning before practice at Freddie’s place. 

Once there, the first thing they did was take a long, hot shower to really, truly, warm up and loosen up their muscles. There was some hesitation, but then, Brownie reached for Freddie’s hand and pulled him into the shower with him. It was not the first time they’d seen each other bare, they shared a locker room after all. It was intimate. Above all else, it was just nice, to be so close to each other, to be able to touch. Brownie, always a fan of Freddie’s hair, washed it carefully and lovingly, sneaking a scalp massage in, and then, then, they fell, for the first time, into bed with each other, to spend their night as one in affection and devotion.

 

The next morning, Brownie, very aware of Freddie’s dislike of early hours, was surprised to wake up to the smell of cooking. Dressed in a loose pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, he padded into the kitchen to investigate. There, he was greeted with the sight of Freddie in Jeans and a tank top (he wasn’t stupid. Cooking without a shirt was just asking for trouble) flipping pancakes and occasionally sipping from a steaming cup of what smelled like coffee. For a few minutes, Brownie just watched. 

It felt like a dream sequence, with the dim light streaming in through the window, painting soft lines and rendering Freddie half in shadow. Then, he walked over and attached himself to Freddie’s back and stole his mug. It was surrendered easily. It was bitter, indicating the first cup of the day that was for waking up. It was hot, and strong,with a splash of coconut and distinctively Freddie’s favourite blend from the roasting shop he had found back when he had first moved to Toronto. Sleepily, Brownie handed the mug back and snuggled in closer, ignoring the light shaking Freddie’s soft laughter brought. 

“Sleep well?” He nodded, dragging his cheek over the soft fabric of the tank. They stayed like that for a little while, Freddie continuing to cook, swaying a little to the music pouring from the radio. Then, they settled onto the couch with their stacks of pancakes and fresh mugs of coffee, sweeter now and less bitter. Freddie had mastered the art of making healthy yet delicious breakfast, and soon their plates had been cleared and they were just cuddling. Last night had not changed anything, really. They were closer than ever, sure, but it just felt like an extension, something they enjoyed, and delighted in, but would not have been any lesser without. 

Brownie had brought a change of clothes, but he snagged one of Freddie’s toques on the way out. The theft was only commented with a kiss on the cheek, and otherwise largely ignored. Among the first in the room as usual, no one commented on their arriving together. Carpooling among teammates was not unusual, and they had come in to games together before, but James saw, and smiled, and went back to getting dressed. 


	6. Not Pictured: Sandcastles in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye-week time! Thanks to R as always for editing, good luck with your exam!  
> So. January continues. Bye-weeks and birthdays and beaches. Basically, fun for all. Let's enjoy while it lasts. :)

Only a week later, the bye week arrived, finally. Brownie, Freddie, Mo, Josh and Auston all met up at the airport early in the morning (ew) snuggled into hoodies and mostly hidden by their large coffee cups, and got onto one of the many, many planes they got familiar with over the course of their careers, and settled in for the flight. About halfway through, they started to wake up, talking and playing games and chirping and then, they arrived in wonderful, warm Miami.

  
Immediately out of the gate, layers were shed and shades put on, and they found their hotels and then headed out again in search of food. Freddie and Auston especially blossomed in the heat and sun, turning up their faces and greedily absorbing it all. The week was mostly spent on the beach, sunbathing, swimming, and on boats, food, crashing in the hotel, and doing it all over again. When the sun got too much for the others, Freddie and Auston still laid outside as if trying to recharge their own personal solar powered batteries while the rest found shade and fresh coconuts.

  
To Brownie, observing Freddie in warmer climates was fascinating. He knew his goalie loved the sunshine and the heat, thriving in it. He knew that this was what Freddie missed the most about Anaheim, as happy as he was in Toronto. It was as if his very being got a bit warmer, a bit looser, a bit more prone to easy smiles and lazy affection, slinging an arm around Brownie’s shoulder or setting a hand on his leg or lower back. Even his kisses tasted like summer. Brownie suspected this effect would be intensified in California. He didn’t know how he would cope, so devastating and beautiful was it to witness. He could hardly wait.

 

 

Their first game back, Freddie got a two minute minor against the Rangers for holding, a fact which amused Brownie to no end. (“Holding, eh? Didn’t know small Norwegians were your type.”) Freddie was still in sunshine mode, a little more carefree than usual, and while this was not the direct reason for the penalty, the timing was on point. He told him as much, and got a sharp smile in return, and later in the hotel even sharper kisses that cut straight into his heart in the best of ways. He felt like molten sugar.

  
His birthday the following day started early with a plane ride to Ottawa. He had been woken up softly, led down to team breakfast where his team sung a slightly tone- deaf version of happy birthday, and generally didn’t have to think about anything throughout the day. His bag was packed when he came out of the shower, a small, finely wrapped parcel set right on top that he found after practice when he got ready for his pre game nap that he wouldn’t open until after the game, just sinking into familiar arms under the blankets of an unfamiliar bed.

  
He got calls from his family, and even Auston refrained from chirping about his effectively single room on this road trip. As a birthday present to himself he scored a goal, and when they got dinner after the game, he was presented with a small burning candle stuck in a brownie for dessert. His team was the best. He had been snuck little presents throughout the day, and before he went to sleep, he settled into Freddie’s lap and opened them all, saving the parcel in his bag for last. Most of it was joke gifts, a book he had been wanting to read, things like that.

  
The last, though, was Freddie’s present. A brown paper package, tied up with string (he started humming at that point), with flowers drawn on like the coffee cups often had. One of his favourites, a carnation. And inside, he found a satin pouch, and when he reached in, he pulled out a delicate golden chain with a pendant. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be...a hammer. Mjölnir.

  
Part of it was a joke, of course. Brownie loved the Avengers films a little too much, and had watched all of them with Freddie and some with the rest of the team. Another part of this, Freddie explained, was a way to connect him to Freddie, to his home. And also, it was an expression of his regard, and his faith in Brownie. Mjölnir, Thor’s hammer, could only be lifted by the worthy. And he proceeded to whisper the myths he had been told as a child to Brownie, falling into the familiar cadence of a story teller.

  
And the way Freddie looked at him in that instant, the way his smiles were honey slow and still so so warm, even here in rainy, cold Ottawa. That instant was when Brownie understood that to Freddie, he was the sun, and even a supernova would not be enough to lose him.


	7. A Suit is like Armour, Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! I apologise for taking so long with this one, but real life got in the way of the important stuff, so.  
> As always, thanks to my beta R and also the gc who always provides inspiration or just a laugh.  
> Now, this is a shorter one, and also the end of the lovely month of January. Enjoy while it lasts, but for now we continue with the pure fluff.

The trip to the tailor’s shop was an...experience. Surrounded by teammates, there were professionals trying to make them as good looking as possible by dressing them in bespoke suits. And it worked. Freddie, he of the tall and gorgeous variety, had opinions on suits and frequently gave snarky comments on their friend’s lack of style, taste and, most importantly, opinions, lovingly roasting them for fun. They took it good naturedly, and Auston chirped right back (subtly) when Freddie struggled to find fault (and his composure) when it was Brownie’s turn. 

Once all was done, they took a group photo in the lobby, Brownie as close to Freddie as possible, leaving a small yet noticeable gap between him and Auston who kept on snickering when they said their goodbyes. It was a sign that he loved them, so they took it in good grace. And then went home, alone, and didn’t think about Auston for a while.

January, in general, was a good month. So much happened, in a short period of time, and they won over half of all their games, and the wins were good. They had gained a new backup goalie over the break, and in two of the three games they played before All Star weekend, Freddie posted two consecutive shutouts. The first, a 4:0 win over the Flames, was received with much delight. The next day was a travel day, so they could afford to go out and celebrate. 

The club they found (more a bar, really), was quiet enough for conversation and loud enough to dance. And dance they did. That night, they did not allow Freddie to stay in the booth, surrounding him on the dance floor, and when most of them dispersed to find other dancing partners, he danced with Brownie. Close, increasingly flirtatious, and intimate, as much as the setting allowed. In a way, January was a second honeymoon phase for them. 

The thing about hockey players though was that they got away with a  _ lot _ , affection wise, and they were comparatively subtle. Even most of their teammates barely noticed, James being the obvious exception, Auston by necessity, though he still had not completely connected the dots, and Jake seemed to be catching on. Mac, too, new as he was, but he was a goalie. Of course he did. 

The bruise on his jaw Freddie carried onto the plane the next morning was barely acknowledged, faint as it was, and the rest had mostly faded by morning skate the following day. They were, of course, retraced after the second shutout. With a game less than 24 hours later in a different city, there was no time to celebrate, but the mood on the plane was good, another 4:0 win in the books, and Detroit crushed in the distance. Life was good.

 

 

  
In the tradition of life being good in january, the all star game arrived, and with it, the break. Auston was off to LA, Freddie being a bit wistful on the reminder of California and sunshine, and then shook it off and proceeded to make sure the break was going to be  _ fun. _ There was training, of course, and he took Brownie out to different kinds of restaurants, including a Danish bakery outside the city. Brownie, meanwhile, took him to all sorts of favourite places, spaces he had grown up in, and they even went skating without pads once, just racing around the rink when it was empty. 

They watched the games, partially, and some (really, much more interesting) Netflix series (Brownie insisted on furthering Freddie’s horizons. They were both hooked on Sens8 now) and it was just...nice. They split their time between the house and Freddie’s apartment, hanging with the family and some non-hockey friends, and then Auston was back and they were playing again and January, all in all, had been a resounding success.


	8. All Good Months Come To An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. With January mostly over, we are heading into February. A few more ups and downs than our honeymoon period. Not before the last game of the month though. Fun times.  
> Also, there are some flowers in this chapter, I added the meaning in the end notes.

Of course, it couldn’t last. On the last day of January, in their first game back at the beginning of a four game road trip, the team gave an embarrassing performance, losing 3:6 and ultimately seeing Freddie get pulled in the first period after allowing three goals on eight shots. The room afterwards was very, very quiet. It had been a rude awakening, a game like this after their break, having been preceded by two shutouts and a loss. Freddie had gone nonverbal, obviously blaming himself, even though Mac had not been much better. 3 out of twelve was not exactly stellar.

Brownie rushed through taking off his skates and pads, and then knelt down in front of him, completely focused. He shifted between the blockers, having had to push the arms leaning on them to the side (they went, easily, with no resistance) and cupped Freddie’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the damp cheekbones. He knew, if he were to taste, it would be salt, regret, sadness and guilt, and not all of it would be sweat.

He despaired of what would happen the next time Freddie would get pulled, and fervently wished he would not have to find out. A futile exercise, really: Every goalie got pulled sometimes. It was a fact of life. This, though. It was the shock of that enchanted month, where even the losses had not stung, the highs were so high and the playoff run not yet as imminent.

“Hey,” he said, softly, so as not to spook him. His strong, beautiful goalie, so downtrodden and defeated. “Hey, it’s not your fault. We played like shit. We didn’t help you at all out there, and we didn’t get better without you, either.” Still nothing.

Sighing, Brownie let go of Freddie’s face and shuffled back slightly, unbuckling the pads and setting them to the side. Then, he took one skate, then the other, unlacing them and setting them aside. Next was the cap, which had partly hidden that sad, sad, face, but it had to come off, leaving hopelessly ruffled  (and still beautiful) hair in it’s wake. The jersey required a little cooperation, which he got through whispering sweet nothings and letting endearments drip from his mouth like honey. Usually, this was more Freddie’s domain, but Brownie was not about to let that stop him. It always helped him feel settled, anyways.

The chest protecter and arm braces came away easier, and then he unlaced the pants and got Freddie to step out of them. He was aware of the eyes on them, some averted in respect, some glancing curiously, some staring. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care in that moment. Besides, he knew no one would have a problem with it, and even if they did, James would talk to them. A lot of them had guessed at their relationship anyways, and half of the rest did not know how to use their eyes. They would deal. He slipped Freddie’s undershirt over his head as well, caressing as he went (careful, soothing, nothing else), shucked his own, and led him to the showers by the hand.

He found them a corner, stripped down, and turned the water on hot. Steam rising, he maneuvered them both under the stream, reaching for the soap and making sure to always keep a point of contact with Freddie. He had been waking up, slowly and surely, letting himself be molded and led, pliable and soft. It was perfunctory, and comforting, and by the time half the team had left they shut off the water and went to find some towels.

The heat and the soft touches had obviously helped, and Freddie, much to Brownie’s relief, seemed much more alert, standing up tall again. He probably would be back to normal in an hour or so, with sleep chasing away the last of the cobwebs and despair. He would have gotten there on his own, with a bit more time, but this was much nicer. And that was the point, wasn’t it. They were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, and they both acknowledged that, but they didn’t have to.

And so, they went back into the locker room, changing back into their game day suits, and climbed into the bus and then the hotel bed, falling asleep curled tight around each other after some soft kisses and assurances and a quiet, whispered “Tak, Kære.” And then they slumbered on until the morning, to a new day and a new month.

 

February was...stressful for the most part. They lost more than they won, and now they were deep in their run for the playoffs, but at least they beat the stars this time. Valentines day, though, was a good time for all. They won 7:1 against the Islanders at the end of a four game home stand, and while they had to be on the plane early the next day they all managed to get in some quality time with SOs or friends, and Brownie got some time in the box. (“Holding, so flirty.”)

Before morning skate, he had been greeted with the usual coffee, a nice, light roast, with milk, cinnamon and love, and some real flowers. It was a tiny bouquet, bound together and hanging from the skate peg. There was a red crysanthemum and some heliotrope , bound with amaranth and wrapped in ivy. (add meaning in authors notes) The chirps flew, of course. Over half the room had figured them out by now, and the other half speculated on the identity of his “admirer.” He just shrugged, and smiled at Freddie. He had hidden something between Freddie`s pads while he wasn’t looking, and he should find it right...about… An arm slung around his waist, a kiss pressed to his cheek. Then, he was gone again, but Brownie knew this was downpayment for later.

A chamomile blossom encased in amber. Freddie kept thinking about it. Amber, sun in pocket form, and chamomile, finding strength in adversity.With only two wins since the Dallas debacle, he had not been the most confident. This helped, and it was sweet. So sweet, like honeysuckle, or Brownie. Connor. The love of his life. (He would have to tell him that some time, though he suspected he already knew). Brownie stayed over that night, after a nice dinner, and they dragged themselves onto the plane way too early the next morning.

They had to wear suits, of course, but once they were in their seats Brownie shucked off his coat and suit jacket and proceeded to drown himself in a huge, soft hoodie, cuddling into the fabric and the seat, leaning against Freddie. He looked on, amused. When Brownie had settled, Freddie offered him an earbud, and they dozed through most of the flight together. They were later informed that there were pictures, of course, which they got sent and then saved, tucked away into special folders on their phones. When the plane had landed, Brownie very begrudgingly disentangled himself from long arms and excess fabric, putting the hoodie back into his bag.

The suspiciously large and very soft looking hoodies and sweaters became a thing. When it was cold (and really, in Toronto it was almost always cold) or when they were on the road, he snuggled into them, sometimes coming down to breakfast looking smug and cozy all at once. Most of the teammates who had not yet caught on did get the hint when those sweaters were marked with the number thirty-one, Andersen emblazoned on the back. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers:  
> Crysanthemum (red): I Love You  
> Heliotrope: Devotion and Faithfulness  
> Amaranth: Unfading Love  
> Ivy: Eternal Fidelity
> 
> In case you hadn't noticed, Freddie's a sweetie. And also completely gone on Brownie.


	9. Deadlines and California Dreamin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, after real life happened, a new chapter. We're getting into the last parts of the season now! Cali trip, even with....mixed results, it was fun.  
> The end is nigh! Enjoy

A day after they got Boyle, a veritable school bus on skates and also very nice, they went on their trip to California. Freddie, of course, was delighted. Four days of Cali, and sun, and terrible floral shorts (thanks, Willy.) They all walked around the streets, soaking in the warmth, and got shown around Anaheim by Freddie. They didn’t have a lot of time, coming off a shootout loss, and he was disappointed when he didn’t get the chance to play against his old team, but they didn’t fly out too early the next morning. They had a few days until the next game, so they were given until early afternoon to enjoy the city. So, Freddie took Brownie out to the place he had kept, a tiny thing near the beach, and they just stayed there for a bit, wrapped up in each other and basking in the warmth. As usual, when confronted with sunshine, Freddie was a bit looser, a bit more open, and that, coupled with prolonged contact with Brownie, meant he was like a big cat, warm and affectionate and happy. They already had some plans for the (hopefully not too long) summer with a trip to Denmark, but he had already pencilled in some training time out here. Perhaps he could convince Brownie to join him for a bit.

 

The California roadtrip had not been great, hockey wise, and of course those crucial games near the end of the season had to be hard. The game against Florida, in the middle of another road trip, was, to put it lightly, a shit show. They were destroyed seven to two, and Freddie had to watch most of it from the bench. It was...well. It was both better and worse than the last time. They went back to the hotel to lick their wounds and drown their sorrows in each other, and came to the Tampa Bay visitor’s locker room and destroyed the Lighting. Brownie managed to get one of the five goals, and Freddie...Freddie got a shutout. That night, they clung to each other like the last one, and yet this was full of jubilation, having gotten that important win in such a decisive fashion. 

 

The next week was one of ups and downs. Willy hit two different performance bonuses in the span of two days, and that meant party, or as much as was possible so close to the playoffs. They went out (not too long), they danced, sticking close and always touching, and Willy continued to pine after the still injured Kappy when they were on the road. Seriously, they lived together, you’d think they’d get over the separation anxiety. But they wanted to play together, and Brownie knew he was lucky. Besides, the second game was at home, so Kappy went out with them. 

Those two were  _ inseparable _ , and disappeared a few times only to return with pink cheeks and messy hair, inconspicuously holding hands. They looked so happy Brownie didn’t have the heart to chirp them beyond some gentle ribbing, and the rest of the team seemed to feel the same. All in all, it was a good night, one that ended in Freddie’s bed and was made better by the fact that practice the next day was in the afternoon. This meant, of course, breakfast and cuddles with much time to be had, and they fully took advantage of it.

 

The next game was sobering. That  _ idiot _ ran into Freddie, and he was way, way too slow to get up for Brownie’s liking. But he stayed out. In first intermission, Brownie barely saw Freddie as he had disappeared into the trainer’s room. And when he finally emerged, he looked at Brownie and shook his head. “Hey, c’mere.” He reached for Brownie, setting a hand on his cheek. “No need to be worried, okay? My head is fine. He got the jaw, and they’re keeping me out as a precaution, but it’s alright.” 

Brownie knew the trainers liked to be careful. That didn’t help his worry much though. After the game, a loss despite Mac’s best efforts, he curled up on the bus next to Freddie and answered his mother’s concerned texts. 

 

Mrs Brown insisted on making sure Freddie really was okay, and made soup. It was sweet, and Freddie smiled softly, and thanked her. He really was fine, he assured. Sparky getting recalled was still unnerving though. He brought Kappy with him, delighting the room and especially Willy, and they continued fighting for that x. And they won, and they lost, and Freddie returned in time for their next road trip, and the standings were a constant state of anxiety and motivation. 

And then, in their second last game of the season, the one they had to win,  _ Sestito _ of all people ran into Freddie early in the second. Way, way too close to the head,  _ on  _ the head, really,  _ again. _ Brownie already had a vendetta against Buffalo, Sestito was next on the list now. Freddie got pulled, again. They played like dynamite, for the playoff spot and to avenge their goalie both, and they  _ did it.  _ Bozie got the PPG for Freddie, Kappy got his first of the season, and Brownie his 20th, and they  _ made it. _ It was bittersweet, in a way, coloured by worry about Freddie, but he assured them he’d be back in time to crush the Caps, and they were going to the playoffs. It was  _ awesome. _

 

The next few days were full of preparation, rehab for Freddie, and Brownie plotting how to kill Sestito slowly, painfully, and somehow legally. Freddie just shrugged, handed Brownie a cup of very, very strong coffee, black with some raw cane sugar, and patted his hand. It helped a bit. 


	10. Nightly Disturbances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playoffs, finally!

The murder, Brownie conceded, would have to be postponed. Freddie was back for the playoffs, just as he had promised, and they were in Washington. For Game One. Of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. It still didn’t feel real. They snuck in one of their pre game rituals, a kiss to each palm for Brownie, a whisper of Danish from Freddie, punctuated with a kiss to Brownie’s cheek. They also looked at each other a lot, but that was normal, with or without hockey. And then, they  _ played. _

The game was fast, and incredibly chippy, checks flying left and right. They went up 2:0, passes connecting and Holtby helpless to stop them. At one point, Brownie found himself on the ice after a hard check from Niskanen, and when he looked up, he saw Freddie out of his net. He had skated out behind it and turned into Niskanen, sending him to the ground with enough force to almost overbalance himself. Brownie stared.

Freddie, very calmly, returned to his usual position and stared back, challengingly, his eyes crinkled from a smile. He winked. Brownie swallowed, and looked away, skating back to the bench. That was...well. A hit like that, immediate retaliation in a move reminiscent of angry baby goalie Freddie, very clearly for Brownie’s benefit. It was actually kinda really hot. Oh he knew the chirps would be strong, but he didn’t care.

 

Fuck Williams. He just had to tie it back up. They went to OT, and they lost, but: They gave them a run for their money. They performed miles over the expectations. They had a legitimate chance.

The room was charged afterwards. Happy about the performance, even though they lost. Brownie and Freddie had been staring at each other during intermissions and after the game even more than usual, charged with promise. And back in the hotel, Brownie could very thoroughly show his appreciation for that hit. Very, very thoroughly. It was a fun time for all involved, is what he’s saying. 

The chirps at practice the next day were strong, as was to be expected. They both had turned up with distinctly non-hockey related marks, and money was exchanged when their bruises were exposed, especially the scratches along Freddie’s back (not too deep, but distinctive nonetheless )

Also, Freddie apparently felt the need to prove a point to Mo, sweet oblivious Mo who had been pining after Jake and had to learn how to open his eyes. Brownie was happy to play along, letting himself be pulled onto Freddie’s lap for a murmur of love and praise for a move in practice and a kiss, and then returned to his stall to finish getting dressed. 

Mo’s expression was priceless, very obviously the last of the team to figure them out. Brownie wondered if he knew about the Scandinavian Connection who didn’t know subtle if it hit them over the head. It was hilarious to see Mo so bewildered, Jake patiently explaining to him and tipping his mouth shut. He knew Freddie was judging Mo for being slow on his own feelings as well as everyone else’s. He’d work through it soon enough.

Game Two though. Game two, they  _ won.  _ It was a wild game from start to finish, another one with many, many hits. They lost Roman to one that wasn’t even dirty, and they skated their hearts out, through double OT until they could barely stand and were still thrumming with energy. And then, Kappy scored, bringing it all to a halt, and they had tied up the series. Just like that. Tired and so, so, happy, they went through their post game interviews (well, Freddie did) and they went to the hotel to crash and sleep. They tried, anyways. After Willy’s and Kappy’s little performance in the locker room ( _ make out session  _ might be a better term, a little too drawn out for public consumption) and that kiss Jake had pressed to Mo’s cheek, they knew something was coming. 

And sure enough, the next morning, way, way too early (morning flights after OT  _ sucked _ ) they were still dozing away the last remnants of sleep their alarm had tried to shake when there was a knock on the door. Brownie grumbled, pulled up the blankets halfway over his head, and mourned the loss of contact when Freddie got up, pulled on a shirt and went to answer it.

Unsurprisingly, it was their future captain. Freddie made coffee, and they talked him through it, trying to help him figure out the obvious, that Jake loved him back. When he left again, somewhat reassured but still disbelieving, Brownie sighed. He knew Freddie was deeply unimpressed with the no homo attitude of most of the guys coming up through Juniors or College in North America, sweeping any affection under the mantle of bros, up to and including hooking up with each other. It was a peculiar mix of denial and functional deflection. 

It did work for a lot of them, but it also led to heartbreak and insecurity. They all knew the stories. Hell, Brownie had had front seats to all the Otters got up to, had heard from former teammates all about the secret canoodling Dylan got up to with Mitch before they went their separate ways, and whatever Davo was doing with his second overall. Those two though, Jake and Mo, they were going in the right direction, and he was glad they could help, even a little bit. 


	11. In Glorious Effort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playoffs, varying levels of success, and sweetness.

The few days between the games were mostly spent with practices and cuddles. The coffee, now settled on a few rotating favourite versions dependant on mood, temperature and location, was switched up for the first time in a while the morning before game three. Nowadays they were usually handed to him on the way to the rink, to sip in the car from an insulated travel mug. That morning, there was a little something extra in there though, and Brownie tried to figure it out, by now familiar with different blends and roasts and ingredients. 

It was iced, more with the hope of summer than actual high temperatures. Cold brew, from the new batch Freddie had made when they had returned to the city. Light roast, beans from the shop where they roasted it themselves, a nice ethiopian harvest. (this one, he knew because he had bought it. He wasn’t Freddie, he couldn’t determine the origin purely from taste just yet). Smooth and strong, without the acidic edge cold brew could have sometimes. Coconut milk, some traces of cardamom, a little bit of the syrup they had cooked up a little while ago for sweetness. (cinnamon and orange blossom water).

And something else. The flavour was deeper than usual, kind of like very dark chocolate...There had been another bottle in the fridge. “Goalie man, what exactly is this? Like cocoa but not?” Freddie grinned. “You’re getting good at this, kaere. It’s cold brew cocoa. Made from ground cacao nibs, quite bitter in the original form. I thought you might like the extra touch.” At that, Brownie laughed. “Oh I appreciate the extra touch, alright.” To his delight, a light blush dusted Freddie’s cheeks. He had a mouth on him when he wanted to, but unintentional innuendo sometimes still caught him off guard. Only in private, though. Only with Brownie.

 

The good mood carried over, through morning skate and their first playoff game at the ACC, the win they got in another OT, giving them the lead. It was  _ exhilarating.  _ 4:3, again, giving them the series lead. The room was jubilant afterwards, and watching the crowd react was the best part. He had never heard the arena cheer that loudly. 

The next one though. The next one they lost. The only one not going to OT. 4:5, Brownie getting his first and only point of the series, and even though they fought like hell, they lost. Tied up again. The way home was weighed down by exhaustion and disappointment, partially because they couldn’t get the win for Freddie, consistently their best player and one of their most experienced, playoff wise. They went home, licked their wounds, and came back to Washington for game five. It was weird. Low scoring, with an OT again (there were whispers of records being broken with the number of overtimes the first round was racking up across the league, which was kind of cool. Would have been cooler if they managed to win them, too). Brownie also worried about Mo, and he knew Freddie did too. Their de facto captain was hurting over whatever his and Jake’s hangups were in addition to their on ice performance (good, so good, but not enough apparently). On the plane back home, Brownie shared one of the cookies they had baked with him, helpless to do much more than give support. 

 

And then, at home, their beautiful arena with their wonderful fans, they lost the series. They raised their sticks, proud to have come so far, a few bounces away from proceeding, exceeding everyone’s expectations, disappointed to have been kicked out, and they went to the locker room in shock. Out of the corner of his eyes, Freddie saw Jake taking care of Mo and thought  _ good. _ Most of his attention was focused on Brownie though. He himself wasn’t exactly happy, of course, but he was one of the few in the room who had been through this before, multiple times even. 

For most of the room though, this was their first NHL playoff heartbreak. Halfway undressed, Freddie helplessly looked over at Brownie who looked about ready to shake apart. He waited until he was out of his skates and pads and then, when Brownie finally looked up, he opened his arms. With a shaky breath, Brownie rounded the room and let himself be pulled into Freddie’s lap, one of his favourite places to be and his personal safe haven. He buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck and let himself be held. 

Freddie tightened his arms around him. He moved one hand into Brownie’s hair, humming under his breath and holding them both together until they could bear to be apart long enough to shower, get dressed, go through interviews without crying and go home. 

They slept through most of the next day, only getting up to eat and loosen their muscles.  Then, the morning of locker clearout, they shed the last evidence of the playoffs: the beards. It was more stubble, really, no time to develop into anything more

  
  


The day after their mini mourning period, they started out by showering very very thoroughly, washing the last traces of disappointment and anger off each other as best they could. Then, they took out the blades to complete the much needed ritual. Freddie sharpened the razor blade again, more in concession to habit than actual need and set out the rest of the supplies. Both of them only in soft sweatpants, Brownie leaned up against the counter, Freddie stepping between his legs to stand close, lathering up the bristles of the shaving brush on the soap. Then, he placed a hand on the side of Brownie’s face and proceeded to spread the foam all over his cheeks and neck with the brush in the other. 

This was not the first time they had done this, though more often than not it was Brownie just watching and then using his own safety razor, something he knew irked Freddie, albeit jokingly. He liked playfully complaining about the quality of the blades, the shave that was not as close as it could be, etc. At the same time, Brownie would chirp him about his fancy blades, the soap he got from a small manufacture up in Montreal. Today, there were no chirps.

As Freddie started to drag the blade over Brownie’s face though, he began to hum, almost without noticing. It was melodic, and comforting, and when he started to sing Brownie realised it was a lullaby, a love song. He smiled, and let himself be moved this way and that, pliable and content, through both of the rounds of shaving, the aftershave he dabbed on, and still when Freddie reached to lather up his own face. 

He hesitated, and then hoisted himself up on the counter, making himself the taller of the two for once. “Let me,” he whispered. Freddie looked up at him, quietly smiling, and brushed his hair out of his eyes with long fingers, and said “alright.” 

“What, just like that?” Brownie laughed. He had never tried this before, had expected to have to convince his boyfriend to let him try. This was...intimate, to say the least, and while Freddie had always invited Brownie into his life and heart with open arms, he still took a long time to let him in sometimes, a side effect of his very private nature.

“Of course. I trust you, always. You know that, kaere.” Brownie’s breath hitched, and he nodded. He took up the brush, and later the blade, the perfectly sharpened razor, and let himself be talked through it, careful to not nick Freddie accidentally. His hands shook, just a little, when he got to the jugular, but Freddie just took his hands in his, kissed them, and they carried on.

 

Afterwards, they dressed and went out (after a few...delays in between, ) driving to a park a little ways outside the city and just walked for a little while. Even though it was early, and mostly empty, they couldn’t risk walking hand in hand, but they stayed close nonetheless. After a while, Freddie slung an arm over Brownie’s shoulder and said “This would be a great place to walk a dog, don’t you think?” Brownie looked over, incredulous. “I...yes? What…” He trailed off. Freddie had pressed something into his hands. A key. 

“It’s for the apartment. If you want… I mean.” He was searching for words, uncharacteristically nervous. “If you want, I thought you could maybe...move in. Before next season.” And Brownie just started laughing. “Oh, goalie man, did you really think I would say no? And why did you have to ask out here when I can’t even kiss you? Really.” Freddie arched his eyebrows, giving an unimpressed look, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He looked around, demonstrative, and tugged Brownie behind a tree. They were in a secluded corner, even more so than Brownie had realised. And then he forgot to think, for a little while. 

  
  
  


By the time locker clearout rolled around, they had mostly pulled themselves together, focussing on summer plans rather than dwelling on past mistakes. They smiled at Mo and Jake turning up hand in hand, and all went out to lunch together.

Before summer could really start though, they went to play baseball. At the stadium. With cameras and some Blue Jays around. They had varying amounts of success, Auston being unfairly good as usual, but then he had grown up playing it. Personally, Brownie found Freddie playing catcher hilarious, joining his teammates in whistling and shouting appreciation at the highlight reel roll save he made. His form was terrible, but the goalie instincts helped him out and he had been getting into baseball more and more. Brownie had chirped him throughout the season whenever he used a baseball move in a game, and he knew the commentators had fun with it too. Today, he just laughed and made sure to film it all.


	12. Endings Are Really Just Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, it ends. This was fun, and I hope you all enjoyed it too. Onwards and upwards, and I'm sure we will see the Gingersnaps again soon.

 

Packing. Mostly for the summer, but at some point Brownie would have to pack up his room again too. This, though, was for another day. For now, it was for Denmark. He had spent a few days down in Cali with Freddie, but he had other things to do, with his family and some friends, and so they parted ways for a few weeks. Auston came down to Cali a few days after he left, and he was graced with a lot of photos of the two of them and some friends all over the state, including sunsets and beaches and Freddie shirtless a lot. Auston and Freddie had been close since early in the season, and in a way him and Mitch were Freddie’s rookies, about 8 or 9 years his junior and always roping him into their meme shenanigans. They adored him, and he adored them back, gently guiding them without taking on the older brother role like Matt, or the parent role like Jake and Mo did. 

Now, he let Auston cajole him into a few black and white pictures for instagram, and proceeded to skype Brownie most days to lovingly complain about this sunbelt kid that kept following him around. 

Denmark, on the other hand, was an experience. Brownie met most of Freddie’s extended family, who all loved him immediately, and of course his sister, a hockey player in her own right (national team, even) and also very protective of her brother. He won her over soon enough, though, once she realised that Brownie was just as invested in their relationship as Freddie was. He was shown all his old spots, where he used to train, the woods he grew up near, and on the way back they even stopped by Paris to watch the final of the world cup. 

 

The rest of summer was a blur. Freddie stayed in Toronto for a little while to  help Brownie move his things into the apartment, and then he was off again, California again, New York for promotional things, Boston with Auston and Willy at Fenway Park. Meanwhile, Brownie was wading through contract negotiations that were annoying to deal with but did not worry him much (both sides had made it clear that he was staying. No more to be said) and concentrated on the youth clinics he helped to coach. 

Eventually though, everyone started to trickle back into Toronto, there for training camp and then preseason, everything settling back in for the new season. Him and Freddie cohabitated peacefully, serenely, and with purpose. That summer had brought many weddings, and their own would one day follow, too. One day, when they would not be the ones to set a precedent, on their team or otherwise. 

In the meantime, there were rings exchanged, some simple and some laden with gems, speaking of success in love and play both. Even when things were not easy, they persevered, them and the little paws running through the apartment and later the house outside the city, summers spent basking in the sun and winters laid on ice. And decades down the line, when they would go on to teach the next generations, they were still as content as ever, the goalie who charged up his batteries with heat and light and his personal sunshine who bore his marks; and the forward who had discovered the simple, good things in life, grown to appreciate the quiet to offset the adrenaline that permeated so much of their days. 

And they lived, between Ontario and California and Denmark, oscillating from place to place as seasons turned, always at home with each other and homes both given by birth and by choice, to the end of their days.


End file.
